I gave her a little shove, and she fell to the mattress. She aimed a meaningful glance at my jeans, and that was all the encouragement I needed to drop them to the ground. She crawled backward, and I followed, stalking her every movement until we were flat against a bank of pillows. "Hi," she said, running her hand up my flank and over my shoulder. She hooked her leg around my waist and pulled me flush against her. My cock was acutely aware that only my boxers and her panties separated us, and was alternately thrilled with that situation and impatient as hell. She smiled, a little shy. "I like the way you touch me." "That's good because I really enjoy touching you," I said, bringing my lips to her neck and trailing them down between her breasts. "I didn't want to let you go when I met you last night. Wanted to keep you all to myself." "Oh," she said, her eyebrow quirking as if this was an peculiar sentiment. "I don't think anyone's ever wanted to keep me before." Fuck, she was too much. Just too much. Beautiful and rough around every edge yet vulnerable and sensitive. "I want to keep you," I said, sliding my fingers behind her back to unclasp her bra. "I'll keep you as long as you let me, lovely." Her arms moved to her chest the minute her bra went flying over my shoulder. That vulnerability? There it was again. "And I want to see you, too." A groan was rumbling past my lips the second her arms went around my neck and she was bared to me. I thought her tits were a crime in that t-shirt, but I had no idea. They were full and pale, and delicious. I licked and sucked as if I was trying to consume her, and maybe I was. "Say something," she whispered, her fingers raking through my hair. "I want…I want to know what you're thinking." I released her nipple with a satisfied groan, and then dropped kisses on each of her breasts before finding her eyes. "I'm thinking get me inside you right now." Our lips met as my fingers inched her panties over her hips. I could take her just like this, face-to-face while I tasted her hungry hums, and I'd want for nothing. "You probably thought I'd be crazy in bed," she said, her words muffled as she spoke against my neck. "Like, I don't know, adventurous and kinky. Like, I keep nipple clamps in my back pocket and actually prefer wearing thongs, and I'm always down for anal. And it's my fault, really. This whole night has been pretty wild, and I kissed you like a maniac and then everything on the boat, and it wouldn't be wrong to think that tequila on my tits is an average Saturday morning but—" "It only matters what you want," I said, tipping up her chin. "Don't worry about what I think, or what you think I'm thinking. Tell me what you want." Erin's fingers clawed at my boxers, and together we got them over my hips and out of the way. Her panties were long gone and my cock was in love with the wet heat between her legs. "Please don't make it hurt," she whispered. I shook my head and dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Never."

Kate Canterbary doesn't have it all figured out, but this is what she knows for sure: spicy-ass salsa and tequila solve most problems, living on the ocean--Pacific or Atlantic--is the closest place to perfection, and writing smart, smutty stories is a better than any amount of chocolate. She started out reporting for an indie arts and entertainment newspaper back when people still read newspapers, and she has been writing and surreptitiously interviewing people--be careful sitting down next to her on an airplane--ever since. Kate lives on the water in New England with Mr. Canterbary and the Little Baby Canterbary, and when she isn't writing sexy architects, she's scheduling her days around the region's best food trucks.

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